


Lexie (Five-Inch Feels)

by performativezippers



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, First chapter is crossposted with Mean Peach Mojito, Sanvers - Freeform, Sex Work, Undercover, Who is Lexie, but not in a sexy way, this is not about greys anatomy, was that tag a spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/performativezippers/pseuds/performativezippers
Summary: “I'm Lexie,” she says, and it’s clearly a fake name but that doesn’t bother Maggie. She’ll only need to know a legal name if this girl ever gets booked and Maggie has to intervene. She hopes it never comes up.“Nice to meet you, Lexie.”Lexie just stares at her, and Maggie can’t tell if she’s smirking of if it’s a trick of the light.“Sure it is,” she finally says, and oh, yes, she was smirking.Maggie decides to forgo delicate, and asks her next question bluntly, her hands back in her pockets. “What brings you out tonight?”“Astronomy.” Lexie deadpans. “Been a while since I’ve last stargazed; thought I’d commune with nature and all that shit.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of this fic was also posted in my one-shot collection Mean Peach Mojito. But since it's not actually a one-shot, I moved it here. So, if you read it over there, this first chapter will be familiar. Second chapter will be up in just a couple of minutes.

Maggie blinks a couple of times as she turns off her car. There’s a new girl. There’s a new girl, and she doesn’t fit in with the others at all.

 

She’s blonde and white and thin and looks strong and healthy. This particular corner isn’t known for girls with any of those attributes. This corner, like most corners in the internet age, is held down by women who are a little older, more haggard. They’re exclusively women of color, women who are clearly impoverished, many of whom are battling addictions and trying to overcome serious traumas.

 

This pretty, young, unblemished white girl stands out like, well. Like a wholesome pretty white farmgirl surrounded by hardened sex workers on a dingy street corner. Which is, apparently, exactly what she is.

 

Maggie steps out of her car, eyes narrowed. The other women are standing in a loose circle, chatting aimlessly, smoking cigarettes. The new girl is off to the side, one foot propped up against the crumbling brick building behind her. She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts, stilettos, and a black top that might be a crop top or might be a bra, but either way isn’t hiding much.

 

Maggie walks across the street and over to the circle of women. One peels off from the group to meet her. She’s one of the tallest, with a long neck and dark skin and a prominent adam’s apple. Her wig is red, tonight, but Maggie’s seen her with every color under the sun. Her makeup is expertly done, as always, and nearly hides her exhaustion.

 

“Hey, Sylvia.”

 

Sylvia nods in recognition. “Sawyer,” she says, her tone a little cautious but definitely not unfriendly.

 

Maggie instantly knows the caution is because of the new girl. She and Sylvia go way back.

 

“How’s it going?” Maggie tries to keep her tone light and her questions innocuous. She doesn’t want to lead Syl into anything she doesn’t want to be in.

 

“Oh, you know,” Sylvia says, matching Maggie’s casual tone. “Same old, pretty much.”

 

“Quiet night?” Maggie asks, her eyes skating over the group. It’s most of the faces she expects to see tonight.

 

“Pretty quiet. Not the worst,” Sylvia shrugs one lean shoulder, “but not the best.”

 

Maggie nods. Quiet nights are safer and easier, but they don’t pay the rent.

 

“Any trouble?”

 

Sylvia bites her lip for a second, hesitating. “Jasmine,” she says after a long moment, “I think she got picked up last night.”

 

Maggie lets out a long sigh, running a finger through her hair. “Shit,” she mutters. “Do you know who got her?”

 

Sylvia shakes her head. “Some white dude. A kid.”

 

Maggie sighs again. Most of the patrol cops at the station are white and most are men and many are under the age of 30. “That doesn’t really narrow it down.”

 

Sylvia rolls her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

 

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Maggie promises. She wishes she’d been told about it this morning. Sam down in booking usually calls her.

 

Maggie wracks her brain for a minute, and dread drops into her gut. “She’s got a new baby, doesn’t she? A little boy?”

 

Sylvia nods, her face sad and resigned. “Three months old,” she confirms.

 

“He with anyone?”

 

“Her ma, for now. Can’t be permanent, though.”

 

Maggie nods. Jasmine’s told her enough of her story, enough of how she came to this corner, for Maggie to worry about the welfare of any child left with Jasmine’s mother.

 

“I’ll do everything I can,” Maggie says, her voice firm.

 

Sylvia nods, her eyes clearing a little bit. “I know you will,” she says softly. “You always do.”

 

Maggie nods back, before shifting her weight and sliding her hands into her back pockets, trying her best to seem casual and unarmed. She gestures with her chin over to where the white girl is still leaning. “New girl,” is all she says.

 

Sylvia nods, her face now wary. “Yup.” She pauses for a moment before saying, in the same fake-casual tone as before, “you know her?”

 

Maggie knows exactly what she’s asking. Is she a cop?

 

Maggie shakes her head. It’s dark, but that’s not a face she’d forget in a hurry. “Never seen her before.”

 

Sylvia makes a humming noise.

 

“I’ll go introduce myself,” Maggie says, the mystery of the white girl already thrumming in her veins, eager to be solved.

 

Sylvia hums in agreement.

 

“Who brought her?”

 

Sylvia shakes her head, carefully groomed eyebrows drawn together. “No one. Just showed up a couple nights ago, asked if she could work. None of us ever saw her before.”

 

Maggie’s own eyebrows shoot up. Girls like her don’t work corners at all, but especially not without an invitation. Who _is_ she?

 

“She get any work?”

 

Sylvia nods again. “Two jobs her first night, none her second.”

 

Maggie can’t figure out which is more surprising. That she got two on her first night on the corner, which is rare, or that an entire night went by where no one wanted her. She is, even from this distance, clearly exquisite. She could easily make a thousand dollars a job on the internet – could be living like a queen, instead of standing on this last-ditch corner in the shittiest part of town.

 

“She’s a little different taste from what most johns around here are looking for.” Sylvia says, and Maggie can’t help but snort at the understatement.

 

“I’ll go talk to her. You stay safe, Syl.”

 

Syl nods, regally. “We will.”

 

Maggie walks over to where the white girl is standing, exchanging friendly nods and murmured greetings with the other women as she passes them.

 

Maggie closes in on the white girl, now about ten feet from the rest of the women on the corner. “Hey,” she says.

 

The girl jumps a little bit in surprise, but Maggie could have sworn the girl had been watching her walk over. Interesting.

 

“Hey,” she says back after a couple seconds. Her voice is low but full. She doesn’t take her foot off the wall.

 

“You’re new around here,” Maggie says.

 

The girl just inclines her head a little bit.

 

“You’re not,” she says shrewdly, eyes narrowed, clearly trying to figure out if Maggie is a client or what.

 

“Nope.” Maggie, again, tries to keep her tone light and non-threatening. “I’m Sawyer,” she says, holding out a hand.

 

The girl eyes her hand for a long moment before tentatively reaching her own out and shaking Maggie’s for as short a time as physically possible. It’s just long enough for Maggie to feel the softness of her skin.

 

“Lexie,” she says, and it’s clearly a fake name but that doesn’t bother Maggie. She’ll only need to know a legal name if this girl ever gets booked and Maggie has to intervene. She hopes it never comes up.

 

“Nice to meet you, Lexie.”

 

Lexie just stares at her, and Maggie can’t tell if she’s smirking of if it’s a trick of the light.

 

“Sure it is,” she finally says, and oh, yes, she _was_ smirking.

 

Maggie decides to forgo delicate, and asks her next question bluntly, her hands back in her pockets. “What brings you out tonight?”

 

“Astronomy.” Lexie deadpans. “Been a while since I’ve last stargazed; thought I’d commune with nature and all that shit.”

 

Maggie nearly chokes. Who _is_ this girl?

 

“You too, I’m sure,” Lexie continues. “Stargazing, right?”

 

Maggie hums a little. She’d like to play along, to try to make Lexie comfortable with her, but it’s clear that Lexie thinks she’s a client and is trying to pick her up, and she doesn’t want to make it awkward later.

 

“Not quite,” she says. “I’m a detective with NCPD, I like to come by when I’m off duty to check in and make sure everyone’s okay out here.”

 

Lexie doesn’t physically react to that news at all. Something might flicker in her eyes, but her entire face and body stay completely still for a moment.

 

“So,” she says, finally pushing off from the wall and settling both feet on the cracked sidewalk, crossing her arms over her chest. “Everyone hates me because they think I’m a cop – which I’m not – but they like you even though you actually are one?” She scoffs a little. “Fantastic.”

 

“They don’t hate you,” Maggie corrects, drawing herself up as tall as she can. Now that Lexie’s standing upright in her five-inch heels, she’s got a serious height advantage, and Maggie hates to feel small. “They’re just wary of you.”

 

“I’m not a cop,” Lexie says.

 

“I know.”

 

Lexie nods her head in the direction of the other women, none of whom are looking in their direction but all of whom are listening to their conversation. “Tell them that.”

 

“I will. But you gotta admit, you don’t really fit in here. How’d you find this corner?”

 

But Lexie just shrugs. “Call it a superpower,” she deadpans.

 

Maggie can take a hint as well as anyone. She changes the subject, starting to extract herself from the conversation.

 

“Well, like I said, I work with NCPD. I’m not on this beat, but I do what I can take care of the women out here. If you ever get in trouble – with a bad john or a cop or whatever – or if you get arrested, give me a call, okay?” Maggie hands her a business card. “Use that, or Sylvia always knows how to find me. And on the back of that card is the address for a local clinic – give them my name and they’ll get you set up with condoms and blood tests and anything else you need, alright?”

 

Lexie’s toying with the card, turning it over and over in her hands. “Why?” she finally asks, her voice softer and different.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being a sex worker,” Maggie says, her own voice soft and serious. “No one has the right to hurt you or treat you badly.”

 

Lexie narrows her eyes. “You a client?”

 

Maggie shakes her head, firmly and quickly. “No,” she says. “Not a client. Never been a client. Just a friend.”

 

Lexie makes a little humming sound, clearly in disbelief, but she tucks the card into the pocket of her tiny jean shorts.

 

* * *

 

Maggie manages to get Jasmine released the next day. The booking paperwork was sloppy and the rookie who’d booked her had done so after a couple of beers, a fact Maggie only has to threaten to mention to his captain before Jasmine is cleared of all charges.

 

Maggie goes back to the corner that night to give Sylvia and the others the news. The new girl is there, still standing outside of the group, looking disinterested.

 

Maggie swears she can feel Lexie’s eyes on her, but whenever she looks over, Lexie’s immersed in something else.

 

* * *

 

Maggie comes by about twice a week, and over the next month, there are only three visits where she doesn’t catch sight of Lexie. Twice she’s out on jobs, and once Sylvia reports that she hasn’t shown up for a couple of nights in a row.

 

Maggie starts to worry about her, but she’s back the next time Maggie comes by. She’s got a new set of bruises on her upper arms and she’s standing a little stiffly, like she might have bruised ribs. Maggie spends a long time talking to her, trying to get her to name who hurt her, trying to get her to say if it was a job or someone from her personal life, but Lexie just rolls her eyes and changes the subject to astronomy, each time.

 

She’s infuriating, and Maggie still has no idea what she’s doing out on this corner.

 

She slowly starts mixing in with the group. It’s a couple of weeks, but finally Maggie sees her standing in the circle, chuckling to herself at something Jasmine says.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s less than a week later that Cori goes missing. She took a job before 11pm on Saturday night, Sylvia reports, and she never came back.

 

Now it’s Monday, and Sylvia hasn’t heard from her, and Cori’s been crashing on Sylvia’s floor, and Syl is scared for her.

 

Cori is, Maggie knows, an alien.

 

Maggie opens an investigation, and works tirelessly for days and days, but she doesn’t get a single lead.

 

This is the second alien sex worker to go missing in National City in the last three months, and Maggie worries that there have been more disappearances that never got reported.

 

There isn’t a single piece of evidence. After two weeks, her sergeant forces her to kick it to cold cases. She grits her teeth, does as she’s told, and starts stopping by the corner more and more regularly.

 

Cori never comes back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: choking (off screen)

Maggie’s getting a coffee before heading into work for a couple of hours. It’s a Saturday, and she’s had a lovely morning so far. A good long run, followed by a good long shower, and a good long breakfast. She should only have to work for a couple of hours before she’s off for the next three days in a row. She’s planning to ride her bike out of the city and really take it through its paces in the desert. She can’t wait.

 

She’s already thinking about the winding roads, so she’s not really watching where she’s going until she collides with another body.

 

“Oh my gosh, oh no, oh gosh I’m so sorry!” Maggie looks up to see preppy young woman in a yellow dress with blonde hair and glasses and a look on her face like she’d just kicked Maggie’s puppy.

 

Maggie looks down at herself, and is pleased to see that her coffee only splashed on her hand, not on her clothes, or, it seems, on this stranger.

 

“No, my fault,” she says immediately. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

 

“Are you okay? Did you get burned? My sister Alex is right over there, she’s a doctor, she can help!”

 

“No, no, really. I’m fine.”

 

The woman opens her mouth, probably to protest again, but then three things happen at once.

 

“Alex,” the man behind the counter calls, “large Americano for Alex.”

 

A woman whose back Maggie had been absently admiring turns around and walks toward the counter.

 

“Oh, there she is,” the blonde in front of Maggie says.

 

And Maggie’s mind is reeling, because the woman walking toward the counter has straight brown hair cropped to her chin, and is clearly named Alex, and is clearly the sister of this young professional woman.

 

And also, she’s Lexie.

 

She gets her coffee, thanks the barista, and then turns to walk toward her sister. “Kara,” she says, looking down at her coffee, carefully taking off the lid, “you ready?”

 

She’s crossed nearly all the way over to them before she looks up. Her eyes flick from her sister over to Maggie, and she blanches.

 

Maggie’s never actually seen anyone blanch before; she’d thought it was just something people did in books. But Alex’s face actually freezes and actually turns white, and her eyes are actually locked in a frantic stillness.

 

“Hey,” Maggie says, and she can’t help but grin, because this is so weird and she has so many questions, but honestly this person, Alex with dark hair and a preppy sister, Alex in a soft maroon sweater and dark jeans and no makeup, fits so much better than Lexie with the blonde hair and the ridiculous crop tops.

 

Alex stutters.

 

Kara doesn’t seem plugged into anything that’s happening. She looks back to Maggie. “This is my sister, do you want her to look at your hand? Is it burned?”

 

Alex’s eyes move between Maggie and her sister, her panic clearly increasing by the second.

 

And Maggie doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but she likes the feeling of having the upper hand. “Alex, is it?” She asks, one eyebrow up.

 

Alex makes a little sound that is definitely not a word.

 

“Your sister here says you’re a doctor?”

 

Color is slowly returning to Alex’s face, but it’s only made it as far as her ears, which are now turning a delicate shade of red.

 

“Not a practicing one,” she finally manages to mutter.

 

Maggie’s expecting to get to play with her for much longer, but Alex suddenly changes. She seems to gather herself, and suddenly she’s all business.

 

“Are you injured?” She asks, her tone clinical and clean.

 

Now it’s Maggie who stutters. Who _is_ this person? “N—no, no. I’m not hurt, no.”

 

Alex just blinks at her, raising her own sardonic eyebrow. “So…no, then?”

 

Kara cuts in again, and Maggie couldn’t be more grateful. “Are you sure?” She asks, her face full of concern.

 

“I’m sure,” Maggie reassures her.

 

She turns back to Alex, who is standing her ground with an almost military bearing, shoulders pulled back, face set, like she’s daring Maggie to say something.

 

And Maggie would never betray someone like that. She would never out someone like that, even if she can’t for the life of her figure out what someone like this is doing spending her nights out on that corner.

 

“Well,” she says, starting to take steps backwards, “I’ve got to get to work. But I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

 

And Kara seems to take that blithely – they seem to frequent the same coffeeshop, after all – but Alex just narrows her eyes again.

 

* * *

 

It’s late on a Friday, nearing 2am, when Maggie gets a call from an unknown number. She’s at her favorite bar, about to call it a night, grateful to the bartender for keeping her company all night. Her apartment is too quiet after her latest breakup – after her latest dumping – but M’gann is nice to her. She plans to drive home, so she’s been drinking club soda for the past hour or so, just chatting with M’gann about life and politics and that new movie everyone’s talking about.

 

She doesn’t say it, but she appreciates M’gann more tonight than usual.

 

Her phone rings, and it’s got to be someone in distress because it’s basically the middle of the night, so she answers it.

 

“Sawyer.”

 

“It…” The voice on the phone is tentative and horribly quiet. Maggie presses the phone tighter to her ear, plugging her other with her finger. “It—it’s Alex. Lexie,” the quiet voice finally says.

 

Maggie cuts right to the important thing. Alex wouldn’t be calling her if it weren’t an emergency. She tosses bills on the bar and is already walking out to her car. “Where are you?”

 

Alex gives her an intersection, and hangs up before Maggie can say anything back.

 

It takes her about ten minutes to get there.

 

Alex is sitting on the curb, her white skin reflecting the light from the bodega behind her. She’s dressed as Lexie, with the blonde wig and the tiny clothes. Maggie pulls the car up and gets out, quickly walking over to where Alex is unsteadily pushing herself up to her feet.

 

“Whoa, okay.” Maggie reaches out and takes her arms, and it’s then that she notices the bruises starting to form around Alex’s neck. “Is he still around here? The person who did this?”

 

Alex shakes her head, but that makes her sway a little bit. Maggie tightens her grip.

 

“Okay,” Maggie says. “Okay. Lemme get you into the car, okay?”

 

Alex nods, stumbling to the car, letting Maggie open the door for her and lowering herself into the seat with an ungraceful little plop.

 

Maggie starts the car and drives away. She heads back toward the nicer part of the city, back toward the coffeeshop. She’s not sure where Alex lives.

 

Alex doesn’t say anything. She seems to be working on swallowing.

 

“Can you breathe okay?” Maggie finally asks.

 

She sees Alex nod out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah.” Her voice is hoarse and scratchy. “Yeah,” she says again. “I’m okay.”

 

No, she’s not. “No you’re not,” Maggie hears herself say, “but I’m glad you can breathe.”

 

“Can I borrow your phone?”

 

Maggie looks over at her, sharply.

 

Alex’s face is completely blank.

 

The bruises are starting to darken on her pale skin.

 

Maggie reaches into her pocket, pulls out her phone, and hands it to Alex without taking her eyes off the road.

 

Alex accepts it silently and dials it without making a sound. She puts it to her ear and clears her throat a couple of times.

 

Maggie counts to five silently in her head before the person on the other end must pick up.

 

“Hey, Kara, it’s me,” Alex says softly into the phone.

 

Maggie remembers that’s her sister, the preppy blonde from the coffeeshop.

 

“I know, I’m sorry. My car broke down and my phone was out of batteries,” Alex is saying. It’s a decent cover story; a little predictable, but decent. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

 

There’s a bit of a pause, then, “No, no, I don’t need you to come get me. I got a ride.” There’s a bit of a pause. “No, really. Stay home. I’ll come over tomorrow, okay?” Another long pause. “I’m sorry I missed sister night,” she says, her voice softer and more loving than Maggie’s ever heard it.

 

“I miss you too.” She’s practically whispering now, and Maggie feels like an asshole for listening in.

 

“I love you,” Alex says into the phone, and she doesn’t say it in a casual, end-of-phone-call way, but instead in a real, solid, slow, thoughtful way. Like she wants to make sure Kara knows she means it.

 

Maggie wonders just how close she came to dying tonight.

 

Alex puts the phone down in one of the center cup holders.

 

“Thanks,” she says softly. “I just didn’t want her to worry. Turn right at the corner.”

 

And Maggie’s pretty sure that could probably sum up a lot of things for Alex, not wanting to worry her sister. Because her sister clearly has a professional job and some sort of disposable income – that coffeeshop isn’t particularly cheap – and they’re obviously close, but Alex is out on the corner like she’s completely without a safety net.

 

Maggie wonders how different her life would be if she were honest with her sister.

 

But Maggie doesn’t ask that question. She tries to focus on what’s important. “Am I taking you to the hospital?”

 

Alex shakes her head quickly. “No, no. Sorry, I didn’t…uh. No. No hospital needed.”

 

And Maggie knows there a million very good reasons for Alex to need the hospital and she knows there are million very good reasons for her to not go. It’s expensive and judgmental and Alex could, despite Maggie’s best efforts, get arrested.

 

It’s her body, her choice, but Maggie’s worried about the bruising on her neck. She decides to break this illusion they’ve been going with, and mention how she knows the name Alex.

 

“At the coffeeshop,” she says softly, noticing that Alex is already tensing, “your sister said that you’re a doctor. Is that true?”

 

Alex lets out a puff of air. “Sort of,” she says, her own voice soft and a little flat. “I finished medical school but never did a residency. Turn left.”

 

Maggie wonders if that was because of drugs, or debt, or addiction. Because, sure, people turn to sex work to pay off school loans all the time, but not on corners like that.

 

“In your professional opinion, then, how hurt are you?”

 

Maggie can feel Alex’s eyes, looking at her so seriously. She doesn’t answer for a long enough beat that Maggie turns to look back at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

 

“Sorry,” Alex says with what might be tiny smile. “Just, a little funny to be asked for my professional medical opinion dressed like this.”

 

And Maggie doesn’t say anything, but that’s a weird way to phrase it.

 

She skates past it, knowing she’ll be picking this whole interaction apart in her mind for the next couple of weeks. She just shrugs. “Doesn’t change the brain you’ve got going on.”

 

And Alex looks at her again, like she’s trying to read her mind, for a long moment. Finally, she answers Maggie’s actual question. “I’m okay. Definitely a bruised trachea, but nothing time and a couple anti-inflammatories can’t help. Keep going, then right on 5th.”

 

And Maggie hates to ask, but she has to. People usually don’t just casually choke someone and do nothing else to them. “What about the rest of you?”

 

But Alex shuts her down quickly. “The rest of me is fine.” She can clearly tell Maggie doesn’t believe her, because she rolls her eyes a little bit and holds up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

 

Maggie turns to look at her again, her one eyebrow back up. “You a girl scout, Alex?”

 

And she doesn’t expect it at all, but Alex nods. “Troop 17. Very devoted scout, winner of many badges, until I was kicked out for accidentally blowing up one of the tents at camp when I was eleven.”

 

Maggie’s jaw drops, and she nearly crashes the car. “You blew up a tent at girl scout camp?”

 

Alex nods sagely. “Accidentally.”

 

“Okay, I need a lot more detail on that,” Maggie says quickly.

 

“Turn left here,” Alex says absently. “Okay, pull over here.”

 

As soon as the car is stopped, Alex reaches for the door handle and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Sorry, guess the story will have to wait for another time.”

 

“Wait, Alex, okay, wait.” Alex pauses, the door already ajar, the overhead light shining down on her, making the bruises stand out even more. “What happened to you tonight? I need you to tell me who did it.”

 

But then a man is walking out of the building, and he’s a little older, probably in his forties, and he’s not a huge guy but he carries himself like one. He has dark skin and short hair and big muscles and a sharp sort of hawkish look on his face.

 

Alex glances over at him, then back to Maggie. She opens the door even more. “Don’t worry about it,” she says casually, like that’s not the most unrealistic thing in the world.

 

“Alex, come on. Someone assaulted you. You gotta give me something.”

 

But then the man is right at the car door, and he’s reaching a hand down to pull Alex out of the car.

 

Maggie assumes that he’s her pimp, and she gets even madder. What the fuck is going on here? Is he why Alex is out on the corner? She itches to arrest him.

 

But Alex is putting her hand in his, and he helps her out of the car with a gentleness that Maggie doesn’t expect. He looks closely at her neck, and his eyes are soft and sad, and Maggie wonders if maybe he’s her lover. Doesn’t mean he couldn’t still be her pimp, of course, but it adds a layer to it.

 

“I’m okay,” she hears Alex say to him, the door still open behind her. “I’m okay.”

 

“Why didn’t you call me?” His voice is low and gentle, and he seems concerned instead of angry, so Maggie hates him a tiny bit less.

 

“There wasn’t time. It happened quickly.” But then Alex seems to remember that Maggie’s still there, the car still running, the door still open behind her. She turns around and ducks down so Maggie can see her face. “Thanks for the ride, Sawyer.”

 

And it’s so clearly a dismissal, but Maggie just has so many unanswered questions. She wants to say something, but she doesn’t know what name to use in front of this man.

 

So she just sighs, and resigns herself to not knowing. “Take care of yourself, okay? Call me if you need anything. Really.”

 

And Alex smiles at her – a real, genuine smile – and, oh god, even with the ridiculous wig and the terrible clothes and the horrible bruises, she’s completely gorgeous.

 

And all she says is “Thank you,” before she closes the door, and the man puts his arm around her waist to steady her as they walk up the steps to the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex isn’t out on the corner for the next week. Maggie wishes she could see her, but she knows from the other women that showing up with that type of injury isn’t a safe thing to do. If a john with a penchant for pain sees you already bruised, he’ll be more likely to try to leave some marks of his own. It’s a terrible thing, but it’s a fact.

 

Maggie knows that if Alex had shown up, Sylvia would have sent her home because of it.

 

So Alex isn’t there, but Maggie spends a lot of time talking with Syl anyway. Because another girl is missing, a blonde one named Dynasty who works a slightly better corner, and Syl mentions that, in certain lights, it had looked like the irises of her eyes blinked.

 

So that’s the third confirmed alien sex worker gone missing recently, and Maggie’s sure now there’s something seriously wrong.

 

She starts digging deeply at work, finding out everything she can about Dynasty, about Cori, about the first alien to have gone missing that Maggie knows about – a blue skinned Velattite who went by Jez – and about any other sex workers who have gone missing lately. There isn’t anything to connect Dynasty to Cori or Jez, except that they were all aliens. Aliens who don’t look entirely like humans.

 

Maggie’s pretty sure she has serial killer on her hands.

 

She barely goes home for days, digging deeper and deeper. She visits every corner she can, and she doesn’t get confirmation of any other alien disappearances, but there are lots of rumors and suspicion flying around.

 

The women are scared.

 

Maggie’s scared.

 

And then, one mid-morning, a stranger with a phenomenally gay haircut and a nice suit walks up to Maggie’s desk.

 

“Detective Sawyer,” the stranger says, showing a badge, “I’m Agent Vasquez, with the FBI.”

 

Maggie stands up. She’s not sure where this is going, but she’s sure that she doesn’t want to be sitting for it.

 

“We’re working the same case,” Vasquez says with a calm and even tone. “We’d like to you come to our headquarters so we can discuss a collaboration.”

 

Maggie narrows her eyes. The feds aren’t known for being great at sharing. “Which case?”

 

And Vasquez doesn’t smile – doesn’t even really change facial expressions at all – but Maggie can feel their amusement.

 

“The missing aliens,” Vasquez says, like they’re humoring Maggie. Then, with a raised eyebrow and a pointed tone, “The only case you’re working on right now.”

 

Busted.

 

And it is twelve different kinds of fucked up that Vasquez knows that, but Maggie tries to throttle down her anger. She isn’t sure if Vasquez found that out from her captain or if she’s been hacked or something, but she’s pissed.

 

“You know, you feds don’t have a great track record of ‘collaborating’ with us dumb local cops.”

 

And Vasquez smiles at that. “We’re not trying to take over your case, Detective. Just come with me, please. I think you’ll find that we have a pretty persuasive argument.”

 

And Maggie’s surprised to hear the _please_ and she is, to be frank, completely stuck right now in her own investigation. So she just grabs her blazer and shrugs it on before taking her time to gather all the case files she wants to bring with her. She places them carefully in her bag before turning back to Vasquez, who hasn’t so much as twitched.

 

“Lead the way,” Maggie says, and Vasquez does just that.

  

* * *

 

They get out of the car in front of a glass skyscraper, and Maggie stops short. “This isn’t the FBI building.”

 

“Nope,” Vasquez says flatly, already walking in. “Come on.”

 

And Maggie faintly wonders if she’s going to be murdered, but somehow it doesn’t feel like it. So, swallowing her fear, Maggie sets her face into a neutral expression and follows.

 

She’s silent in the lobby and in the elevator and on the long walk down a hallway that twists and turns more than she expects. She’s silent as she’s led into a conference room with big windows on one side that show off the city and wood paneled walls on the other sides, hiding her view of the hallway. She’s silent as Vasquez tells her, “go ahead and get settled, the team will be in shortly,” before walking back out the door. She’s silent as she spreads out her files and as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She’s not silent when she realizes that her phone has absolutely no service.

 

“Fucking feds,” she mutters.

 

She hears a little snort behind her, but when she turns Vasquez’s face is completely neutral. She hadn’t even heard them come back into the room.

 

Vasquez places a bottle of water and a cup of coffee in front of her. “One sugar,” Vasquez says.

 

And, okay, this is just getting creepy. “How the hell do you know how I take my coffee?”

 

“Because we’ve had agents watching you,” says a new voice from behind her. Maggie turns in her chair, and her jaw drops.

 

It’s Alex’s pimp boyfriend. It’s _Alex’s pimp boyfriend_.

 

He’s wearing all black in a way that looks like a uniform: black cargo pants and a black polo shirt with a holster strapped to each thigh. Maggie flicks her eyes back to Vasquez, who, what the fuck, is now wearing the same thing but a slightly more spandexy version.

 

“What the _fuck_ is going on?”

 

Alex’s pimp boyfriend walks up to her and holds out a hand. “I’m Director Hank Henshaw. Thank you for coming today.”

 

And Maggie’s brain is misfiring because, I’m sorry, this is Alex’s _pimp boyfriend_? Is this some pimp militia or something?

 

“Director of _what_?” she hears herself ask.

 

“Take a seat, Detective Sawyer,” he says, gesturing to the table. “Agent Danvers will be with us shortly, but we can get started now.”

 

And Maggie’s brain is still completely whited out. “Who are you? Where am I?”

 

“Take a seat, Detective,” he says again.

 

But Maggie isn’t having this shit. She grabs her files, pushes her chair back with a forceful kick, and is just starting to turn to stride out when she hears a familiar voice that freezes her in place.

 

“Leaving so soon, Sawyer?”

 

Maggie’s head snaps around to a door she hadn’t even seen. Alex is standing there, leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded over her chest, a sardonic look on her face, one perfect eyebrow already up.

 

She’s wearing the all-black catsuit too, and she’s got her own thigh holster on, and oh god, it looks so good on her.

 

Maggie stutters, her brain scrambling to compute anything. “A-Alex?”

 

And Alex grins at her before pushing off the doorframe and striding over. And Maggie’s brain is completely broken but somehow she registers that the girl has some serious swagger going on.

 

Alex holds out a hand. “Agent Alex Danvers,” she says, the shit-eating grin never leaving her face. “Pleasure to meet you, Detective.”

 

And Maggie finds her own hand in Alex’s, just like the first time they’d met, and Alex’s skin is still so soft but this time Maggie can feel some major callouses, and that grounds her a little bit.

 

“So,” she manages to say, her hand still in Alex’s. “Quite the undercover assignment, I’m guessing.”

 

And Alex’s smile softens a little bit. “You have no idea,” she says. “Come sit.”

 

And Maggie still doesn’t know where she is, or who these people really are, but she sits anyway.

 

The Director does most of the talking. He tells her that she’s in the DEO, a secret federal organization that’s tasked with keeping the Earth safe from alien life, but has, in recent years, shifted to also keeping aliens safe from humans who mean to do them harm.

 

They know about the missing sex workers, they tell her. They hand her files, not just on Jez and Cori and Dynasty but on three other missing alien women as well.

 

Agent Danvers has been undercover, he tells her, trying to find out what she can, but she’s hit a wall. They have better technology here at the DEO, but Maggie has the long-term knowledge of the community and the connections that they don’t. They want to join forces, he tells her, to catch whoever is doing this.

 

They’ve found one body, he tells her. Cori’s.

 

Maggie closes her eyes for a moment. She knew there wasn’t a good chance that Cori was alive after all this time, but still. She’s known Cori for years. “She was only twenty-one,” Maggie hears herself saying, fingers skating over the picture of her corpse.

 

“We’re gonna find the people responsible,” Alex says, and her voice is both hard and soft at the same time. “With your help, we’ll find them, and we’ll take them down.”

 

Maggie looks up at her and she sees the determination in Alex’s eyes. Maggie nods at her. “What do you need?”

 

* * *

 

The DEO agents all leave after a while, giving Maggie time to read over the case files on the three women she’d hadn’t known about. Their research is extensive, and Maggie’s taking serious notes.

 

She only notices the passage of time when the door opens behind her and, at the same time, her stomach rumbles embarrassingly loudly.

 

She hears a laugh from behind her, and even though she’s never heard Alex laugh before, she knows it’s her.

 

“Seems like I’m right on time then,” she says, walking into the room and dropping a paper bag on the table. There are grease spots on the bag, and Maggie’s mouth waters. “Veggie burger and sweet potato fries,” Alex says, nodding to the bag as she drops into the chair next to Maggie, another bag in her hand.

 

Maggie stares for a minute. It’s from her favorite place. “How long have you been watching me?”

 

Alex chuckles a little. “I, personally, have never followed you. Too risky that you’d see me. But we, as the DEO? Since the day I met you. Not constantly, of course. Mostly just at the beginning.” She pulls her own burger out of her bag. “And after the coffeeshop.”

 

Maggie can’t help but snicker. “That was a bit of a surprise, seeing you there.”

 

Alex rolls her eyes a little, but then she gets quiet, picking a little bit at the wrapper of her burger. “Hey, look, I know it wasn’t real, that I’m not actually a sex worker, but I appreciate how careful you were around my sister. It was really cool of you to not say anything.”

 

“I would never out someone,” Maggie says softly. “Even though I was, like, _seriously_ confused about what someone like you, with a sister like that, was doing working that corner, but no. I’d never have outed you.”

 

Alex looks at her, another one of those deep searching looks. “You’re like, an actually good person, aren’t you?”

 

“She says with a tone of surprise,” Maggie deadpans.

 

“No, sorry, I’m not _surprised_.” Alex waves her napkin in the air. “No, it’s just, like, most cops are all ‘protect and serve’ but usually just when it works for them. But you’re like, the real deal, aren’t you? You genuinely care about people.”

 

And Maggie hears what she doesn’t say. _Even sex workers. Even aliens._

 

“Everyone deserves to feel safe,” is all she says back.

 

Alex just hums her agreement.

 

Maggie’s halfway through her burger when she feels comfortable asking it. “So, how’d you do it? All those johns? I’m assuming you didn’t actually…”

 

Alex chokes a little bit on her burger.

 

“Um, no, I _did not_ actually have sex with strangers for money,” she says, rolling her eyes a little. “I mean, anything for the job, but, no.”

 

“So?”

 

“Whenever I needed a client to maintain my cover, it was a DEO agent. And when there was someone suspicious that I needed to have some time with, I uh…” she rubs her hand over her forehead for a minute, and Maggie is genuinely not sure what she’s going to say.

 

“Uh, well, without getting into it too much, we have someone here who is, uh, a telepath, sort of, and can implant false memories in people. So I’d get them alone, and overpower them, and get the information I needed from them, and then we’d wipe the conversation from their minds and replace it with a made up memory of a great time.”

 

Maggie’s jaw hits the ground. “You…you’re telling me there are hordes of bad guys running around with fake memories of fucking you?”

 

She kind of expects Alex to flinch at the words – she didn’t mean to put it so harshly – but Alex just barks out a laugh. “Yup,” she says, a huge grin on her face, “but luckily _I_ still have the memories of them sobbing on their knees, begging me not to kill them, spitting all over themselves. One of them actually pissed himself.” She closes her eyes in something that looks a lot like bliss. “It was amazing.”

 

But when she opens them again, Alex’s eyes turn a little hard. “I cannot fucking wait to arrest them and give them those real memories back,” she says seriously.

 

“Well,” Maggie says, not sure if she’s freaked out or in awe. “They certainly won’t see it coming.”

 

And Alex gives her an evil little grin, and Maggie’s crush just grows and grows.

 

* * *

 

They spend the rest of the day together, going through each file and making a plan for what comes next.

 

Alex walks her out at the end of the day, agreeing to see her tonight at the corner. Alex gives Maggie her number, and Hank’s, and Vasquez’s.

 

Maggie looks up after she finishes inputting Hank’s number into her phone. “You know,” she says casually, “the night I dropped you off? I thought Hank was your pimp.”

 

And Alex blanches again, repulsion all over her face. “Ew,” she says, her nose wrinkled up in jus the cutest possible way. “Ewww,” she says again. “Ew. He’s basically my dad.” She closes her eyes in disgust. “Just…ew.”

 

And Maggie just laughs.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this funny little fic. I'm so glad you all liked it! You're the best.  
> Love, Alex's Pimp Boyfriend
> 
> P.S. I had no idea how to wrap up this story, and @theglassesareafacade said "just add a dragon." So, you can blame her for this.

Over the next couple of weeks, Maggie’s respect for Alex only grows. They work together a lot of days, and Alex’s brain is ridiculously impressive. The two of them end up making a pretty phenomenal team. Maggie has the cop instincts – knows what questions to ask and how to ask them – and Alex has a knack for cutting right to the heart of issues. Alex is constantly inventing new things to help them in their mission, and then of course there was the memorable afternoon that she’d showed Maggie the sparring room and had taught her a couple of new moves.

And Maggie’d thought she could hold her own, but Alex has some seriously unbelievable moves that she flawlessly executes with that ridiculous body, and Maggie nearly gets herself kicked in the head three times before Alex takes pity on her and they move to the armory.

But then out on the corner, Alex is just completely Lexie. And, now that Maggie knows Alex well, she can tell how different Lexie is – her voice, her body language, her vocabulary, her walk, everything.

She watches the deft way Alex deals with regular johns who want her, passing them off to other girls, or flirting but offering too high a price, or just fading into the background when they drive up so they don’t see her. Maggie thinks Sylvia is the only one who suspects that she’s picking and choosing her johns that carefully, but even Syl has no idea who Lexie really is.

But Maggie never recognizes the people that Alex gets in the car with. And she’s seen a lot of the DEO agents by this point, and she can’t quite figure out where all these new faces are coming from.

 

* * *

 

Maggie’s not quite sure how, but days at the DEO start fading into happy hours and evenings at a bar together on the nights that Alex doesn’t have to become Lexie.

And then, even on the nights when she does, they more often than not find themselves getting dinner together, or sitting up at a bar while Alex drinks club soda and makes eyes at Maggie’s beer.

It’s late in the evening, one night when Alex is free to just go to bed after this, instead of transforming into Lexie, that Maggie asks it.

“That night,” Maggie says softly, carefully not looking at Alex. “The night you got hurt, and you called me to come get you.” She lets out a breath before she asks it. “Why did you call me? Why not Hank? Or Vasquez? Or, hell, even Supergirl?”

Alex fiddles with her own glass. “I, uh…” her eyes dart around the room a little bit. Maggie just waits for her. “It wasn’t a suspect that did it. I was just walking back to Lexie’s apartment, and these guys jumped me. Just, normal guys, you know?”

And Maggie doesn’t think any group of guys who jump a woman should be called “normal,” but she gets what Alex means. They weren’t involved in the case.

“And I took them all out, but there were a lot of them and they got some good hits in. And I knew that if I called anyone from work while I was still a little unbalanced from it, especially Hank, that they’d pull me from the assignment. They’d been making a lot of noise that it was too dangerous, but everything we’d done would have been ruined if I’d walked away. So I just needed to collect myself a little bit before I reported in, you know? To be able to say it wasn’t a big deal.”

Maggie nods, because she does know.

“And I just…I just figured that you’d, I don’t know. Take care of me without freaking out, or making it weird.”

And it’s strange but it feels like a huge compliment.

Alex nods. “I was always going to report it to him. I just needed to be calm, you know?”

Maggie nods. “Glad I could help,” she says softly. “I was worried about you, you know. When I picked you up, obviously, but even more with I dropped you off with him.”

“Ah, yes. Hank, who you thought was my pimp.”

Maggie grins at her. “If it helps, I also thought he was your boyfriend.”

Alex fakes a gagging noise.

Maggie laughs. “Yeah, that’s how I feel about the idea of a boyfriend too.”

Alex looks over at her, eyes narrowed. “Gay or just over it?”

It’s Maggie’s turn to bark out a laugh. “Gay,” she chortles, “but, also, definitely both. That’s definitely gonna be the name of my memoir, _Gay and Over It_.”

And Alex just nods, sagely. “I’d read it.”

 

* * *

 

They finally, _finally_ , end up with a lead.

It’s because of Alex, of course, who’d does something in her lab to create a device that can track a particle that Dynasty’s breath gives off.

And it was Alex, of course, who invented the tech that identified the particle itself in the first place. No existing human tech could have isolated, identified, or analyzed it.

Alex’s tech did all three.

Then she developed the tracking device, then deployed it.

Maggie wonders if she’d already have a Nobel Prize if all her work weren’t classified.

And, somehow, Alex figures out each alien woman taken had given off that particle.

She, somehow, synthesizes it.

And then, Maggie finds out after the fact, Alex _sprays herself with it_ and heads back out to the corner.

Maggie only finds out, of course, because Hank calls and asks her to hang out at the corner that night. He doesn’t bother to tell her that something will probably be going down.

Alex is there, as Lexie, looking like she always does. Hot and beautiful and sexy and completely out of place still. Maggie’s looking forward to when this mission is over, because blonde really just isn’t Alex’s best look.

And Alex’s skin is gorgeous and her body is ridiculous, but one morning Maggie had come over to her apartment to drop off a file and had seen Alex in sweatpants and a tank top and big glasses and bare feet, holding a cup of coffee and blinking softly, and Lexie can’t possibly compare to that.

And Maggie’s just faded into the background, chatting with Sylvia, when a car pulls up. And Alex walks up to it with Lexie’s gait – swinging her hips and taking her a time in way that Alex never does – and leans over to talk through the window to him.

Maggie can’t hear what they say, but Alex pulls back out of the window, holds up a finger, and saunters over to where Maggie and Syl are talking.

She doesn’t stop, walking right past them and picking up a bag from the ground behind them. It takes Maggie a second to realize that she’s hissed, “Showtime.”

And Maggie’s dumbfounded because, really? That’s how she’s gonna communicate that this is the man they’ve been after for months? By whispering “showtime” as she’s going to get her condoms?

But Maggie pulls out her phone and texts Hank and Vasquez anyway.

And Alex is taking her sweet time getting into the car, and Maggie takes the hint and says bye to Syl and walks over to her own car, turns it on, and drives away while Alex is still there. She drives about a block before she turns off her car, pretending to be parked. She can still see his car in her rear view mirror.

He pulls away from the curb, and luckily he’s going her direction. One of the DEO computer guys, a thin little dude named Winn, calls Maggie and tells her he has a lock on Alex three different ways, so Maggie drops back to tail the car from a distance of about five blocks so he can’t see her.

He doesn’t drive her far. Maggie finds herself pulling up to a self-storage facility right in the same neighborhood. She gets out of her car and creeps forward, gun in her hand.

But it turns out she didn’t need to creep. Because she turns the corner to see Alex already in a full-on battle with three big men, and apparently she got busy quickly because there’s a fourth already down on the ground. And she’s still dressed as Lexie, still with the blonde wig and the crop top and the five-inch heels.

And they’d been on a raid together a few weeks back, and Maggie had seen her in her full tactical glory, with the big vest that somehow didn’t make her look bulky and the gun that somehow shot balls of blue light. And so Maggie has seen her be sexy and cunning as Lexie, and brilliant and focused in the DEO as Alex, and deadly strong and ridiculously brave in the field as Trap Leader.

But it’s really weird to see her acting like Trap Leader dressed as Lexie.

She’s whirling and feinting and roundhouse kicking men in the head, and Maggie can’t get a clean shot.

She ends up shouting, assuming Alex won’t flinch.

It works. One of the men leaves Alex and comes charging towards Maggie. She fires her gun, three times, aiming for his kneecaps. She hits an ankle and a thigh, but the man doesn’t even slow down.

Alex is yelling something as she fights, and Maggie belatedly realizes that it’s instructions. “Headshot!” she’s yelling. “Armor! Headshot!”

The man is closing on Maggie. She sets, exhales, and fires directly at his head.

She hits, and he goes down, oozing a green pus from between his eyes.

Okay, definitely an alien. With a jolt, Maggie realizes Alex had meant that his body _was_ armor, not that he was wearing armor.

Alex has taken out another one of her attackers in the meantime and is now circling the last, a bloodthirsty grin on her face.

“Alex,” Maggie calls out a warning. Alex isn’t armed, Maggie is. Maggie should be the one to engage, but Alex isn’t backing away to give her the shot.

She’s moving forward, actually, into his space, and Maggie knows she isn’t nearly as good at hand-to-hand as Alex is, but she’s pretty sure it’s a rookie mistake.

It is. He darts out and grabs her from behind, one hand on her arm and one in her hair.

It’s only when her wig slips off, leaving him completely unbalanced, surprised, and unable to block the deadly kick that impacts his temple and knocks him to the ground, does Maggie realize that Alex did it on purpose.

That she used her fucking wig and stilettos as weapons far more effective than Maggie’s gun, taking down three aliens to Maggie’s one.

The DEO teams arrive then, and swarm the aliens. They’re all still alive, _even the one Maggie shot between the eyes_ , so the DEO immediately takes them into containment.

Alex helps with containment but keeps her eyes on Maggie, whose own eyes are still blown wide.

Alex walks over as soon as she’s done. “You okay?” she asks, like she didn’t just take down three aliens alone in the dark, armed only with a wig and a hope that Maggie would come find her.

Maggie nods, rubbing her hands together a little. “Never shot someone in the head before,” she says softly.

Alex nods like she gets it.

“I mean, I’m glad he’s not dead,” Maggie continues, “but, also, what the _fuck_ , right?”

And Alex grins like she gets it. She claps Maggie on the shoulder. “Welcome to life with the DEO,” she grins. “Where our motto is ‘but also, what the fuck’.”

And Maggie laughs at that, and she knows that Alex is trying to cheer her up and make sure she’s okay, and she appreciates it.

“You okay?”

Alex nods. “Yeah, I’m good. Nothing like kicking the shit out of some evil people to make my night.”

Hank calls for them, then, and they all line up, guns at the ready, while Hank opens the storage unit that Alex’s device is pointing them to.

And the inside of the unit is something out of Maggie’s most darkly creative nightmares. There are cages along the wall holding all kinds of creepy, goopy things, and there are tons of partitions blocking off sightlines. The DEO agents charge in to clear it, but Maggie’s attention is taken up by a glass box in the center holding something that looks like an honest-to-god dragon.

It’s small, no more than three feet long, but it really, really looks like a dragon.

Alex, still standing next to Maggie, just blinks.

“Oh,” Maggie says weakly, “a dragon. Right. Sure. Welcome to the DEO, huh?”

Alex gives her a little breathless laugh. “Believe it or not, this is actually my first dragon.”

Maggie’s about to make a Game of Thrones joke when Supergirl pops up on the other side of Alex. “It’s not a dragon. Hey Alex! Nice job out there! It’s a Tamolarian.”

“Really!” Alex’s tone is suddenly nearly giddy. “A Tamolarian! I’ve never even seen an image of one. That’s so cool.”

“Uh, sorry,” Maggie scratches the back of her neck. “What’s cool?”

Alex launches into an extremely long and thorough explanation of exactly what Tamolarians are, where they come from, and how other species believe they’re bringers of good luck. It’s all fascinating, but it’s hard to pay attention when the person in front her, waxing poetic about alien superstitions, is wearing a crop top and cutoff shorts and stilettos and fake eyelashes and slightly garish makeup and her hair is all mussed from being under her wig and she also just kicked the crap out of three aliens and is also one of the funniest and most brilliant people Maggie’s ever met.

And Maggie had known that she had a crush, of course, but it’s now, standing in this dark storage unit, with Alex making weird sounds as she approaches the tank, trying to seduce the dragon into not trying to kill her through the glass, still dressed like a sex worker, that Maggie wonders if she’s in love with her.

And then the team finds three of the missing alien women still alive in the back of the storage unit, and Alex races over to them and quickly disconnects them from the machines that were draining their bodies of their unique particles. She explains at top speed to Maggie that the Tamolarian feeds on these particles, so the bad guys were literally harvesting the women for good luck. Maggie shudders but Alex doesn’t stop for a second, reassuring the one who gains consciousness that she’s safe while ordering her team around while coordinating with the med team while instructing Maggie in how to unhook Dynasty from her machine.

It’s then, watching Alex fuss over these women whose lives she just saved while simultaneously figuring out the science involved and theorizing how to synthesize the particle to keep the Tamolarian alive, that Maggie _knows_ she’s in love with her.

 

* * *

 

After the extremely lengthy debrief, Maggie isn’t sure what her status is with the DEO anymore. The case is closed. Maggie spends two weeks cleaning it up – helping the survivors, processing the arrests of the men, tracing their contacts, making another five or so arrests of humans who had been aiding them.

She hasn’t talked to Alex in two weeks.

She misses her, with an ache that feels both heavy and sharp.

She heads to the corner to check on Sylvia and the other women, hoping to distract herself.

She doesn’t expect to see Alex there.

She doesn’t expect to see Alex there, dressed as herself, in jeans and a sweater and a leather jacket and boots, with her own chin-length brown hair.

She doesn’t expect to see Alex there, handing out syringes filled with serums she’s designed to help them fight addiction and ward off STIs and manage their HIV and giving them the HPV vaccine.

She doesn’t expect for Alex to invite her for a drink, even though it’s past midnight.

She doesn’t expect for Alex to challenge her to a game of pool.

She should have expected that Alex would completely humiliate her at pool, because, in retrospect, that was a given.

She doesn’t expect that Alex will initiate round after round of “fuck, marry, kill” while they’re playing.

And she doesn’t expect, although she probably should have, that it’s Alex who makes the first move.

“Okay,” Alex says, looking down at the table and measuring her next shot, “fuck, marry, kill. Lexie, Alex, and Agent Danvers.”

And Maggie’s jaw drops, because she’s about to have to say that she’d fuck one of those women and that she’d marry one of those women, and all of those women are Alex.

But Alex said it for a reason, and she’s only said celebrities so far, and Maggie’s a little bit beyond hope at this point, but she doesn’t see any option other than the truth.

She doesn't have to deliberate about the answer; it’s so completely clear. “Kill Lexie, fuck Agent Danvers, marry Alex.” And then, because she’s already so completely deep in this hole, she gives a little more of the truth. “Although I’d definitely want to fuck Alex regularly as a part of our marriage.”

And Alex gets this glint in her eye. “Well then,” she says, looking back down at the table, where she has only one last ball to sink. “Corner pocket,” she says, indicating with her head.

Maggie’s dumbstruck that she’s going to pretend like Maggie didn’t just say she wanted to fuck her.

But then Alex opens her mouth, and Maggie can’t see her face but she can hear the smile in Alex’s voice. “Let’s make this interesting. If I sink this, you have to fucking kiss me already.”

Maggie’s mouth is suddenly dry. She hates herself for stuttering, but she’s also impressed with herself for being able to say anything. “A-and if you miss it?”

And Alex turns her head this time, already bent over the table, lined up for her shot, and Maggie has a phenomenal view of her ass, and Alex just smirks. “Then I buy you another round and _then_ you fucking kiss me already.”

Maggie nods, just once, barely able to keep it together.

She sinks the shot.

And Maggie certainly fulfills her end of the bargain.

First up against the pool table, then in the middle of the bar, then in a corner booth.

“Didn’t realize you were into girls, Alex,” Maggie grunts as Alex basically climbs on top of her in the booth. “Not that I’m complaining.”

And Alex just shoots her a wicked grin as she closes back in. “Gay and over it,” she agrees.

And it’s not until they’re making out up against Maggie’s car that Alex pulls her mouth away enough to mumble, “Poor Lexie. I can’t believe you didn’t want to fuck her. She was practically naked all the time.”

“Mmm,” Maggie hums in agreement, barely willing to take her lips off Alex’s neck. “Well maybe you can revive her for me, then,” she murmurs, reaching her hand under Alex’s sweater to press against her bare back. “Take me home with you and teach me about astronomy.”

And Alex does.

 


End file.
